


A Monster Within

by JennaMoon



Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Day 1: Soulmates, F/M, Geraskier Week, Kissing, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sad Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sort Of, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaMoon/pseuds/JennaMoon
Summary: First submission for Geraskier Week 2020. Day 1: Soulmates'Soulmate.Synonymous with Jaskier. Flower. Dandelion. Music. Smiles. Love.Soulmate.It clouds his vision when Jaskier whispers sweet nothings in his ears, the worst of rhymes and most contrived of melodies. He can hardly fathom it, how someone so small can crack him open and let the tears fall down his face.Soulmate.'
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634365
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	A Monster Within

Soulmate.

It’s a sound that echoes about his head, telling him it’s the answer to a question he never fucking asked.

Soulmate.

Synonymous with Jaskier. Flower. Dandelion. Music. Smiles. Love.

Soulmate.

It clouds his vision when Jaskier whispers sweet nothings in his ears, the worst of rhymes and most contrived of melodies. He can hardly fathom it, how someone so small can crack him open and let the tears fall down his face.

Soulmate.

Geralt would kill for Jaskier. Has killed. Would fight his way through one hundred vengeful lords for his stupid, thoughtless bard. He’d chastise the moron, claim that trembling flesh as his.

His soulmate. His mate.

He’d keep Jaskier warm with the fold of an arm and crook of neck. Light the word on fire so it may shine upon them both and guide him, faithfully, to a path in which he can keep the bard and his happiness. Fate, bitch that it is, dangles the thought of soulmates just above Geralt’s head.

And he still jumps, stupid bastard that he is.

Yet, when he glances over at Jaskier and sees those blue, skylight eyes… it’s worth it. Jaskier is worth all the scars, and quests, and fucking stupid Lords. He’s worth the pain and betrayal and belief that destiny is _real_. He’s worth bending to the whims of fate for.

Because he is his soulmate.

Flowers, Dandelions, music, smiles, love, protection, compassion, companionship.

Soulmate.

Jaskier.

He knows he’s a fool. To let the bard follow him. He should scare him off, as he does all the pretty, breakable things in his life. In fact, he tries to. He punches the little songbird, low and dirty. He hates himself for it, even with the punch pulled so drastically. He calls himself ‘monster’ as Jaskier’s breath hitches and that body crumples to the floor and that cry leaves his mo-

And the bard laughs, brushes the soil off his dirtied doublet, and continues two steps behind the Witcher. _Soulmate._ Breathes the air, as he realises Jaskier may not be as breakable as he first thought. Alas, Geralt has taught himself to stay fine tuned for danger, and the word is like a warning bell inside his mind.

He doesn’t want to be awful to Jaskier. But the idiot never learns. Geralt has left him in several towns and taverns and the homes of blue fucking bloods. Yet his bard doesn’t stay put. Ever. He’s half-way down the twisted, foggy back lane to Cintra when he hears it, miles behind. His Bard, on a fucking _pony_ of all things. Following him into dangerous corners of the land.

And he still heads back to meet his lark, before something far worse can get hold of him. He relishes in the grateful gaze his poor bard gives him.

_Soulmate._

And Geralt feels monstrous once more, when he calls Jaskier’s beloved pony ‘too fat to gallop’ and makes his way down the path he’s already been up and down once, setting Roach’s speed just a tad faster than usual.

When Geralt leaves Jaskier in Cintra, he hopes that’s the end to it all.

Leave the Lioness and her fucked up family with a live-in songbird. They can leave him fine linen and coin and lute strings. Jaskier could be happy, in Cintra. Happy and safe, which, if Destiny and Fate keep insisting it be so, is the only thing his soulmate needs.

Safety. Something Geralt cannot offer.

Not if he’s too transfixed by dazzling smiles and improving melodies and lazy, dirty lyrics and the way that soft head of hair feels under his palm and how those lips had pouted, whilst he bathed…

_‘And now we’re here’_

And it was so sincere and soft. Jaskier wasn’t afraid of being dependent on Geralt.

To an extent, that wasn’t even what bothered him. It was co-dependency that set a fire in his stomach. Not being able to keep his lark safe… would destroy his heart.

Jaskier is better off in Cintra, where he can dally to his heart’s content, with Ladies and Lords and all sorts of other, rich company that would pay handsomely for a cheeky song and kiss.

Geralt swallows back the rage that rose to his throat.

_Soulmate._

Jaskier is better off in Cintra, along with the other dependent Destiny and Fate have decided to grace his ugly, solitary life with.

Yennefer is not a soulmate. His soulmate. But she is forever. Like him. Destined to age and grow slowly, whilst humanity falls and grows and crashes into its own bloody pasty. She’s pretty. She’s smart and she’s fucking stupid and Geralt loves that about her.

And once again he’s tied himself to someone through fate. But Yennefer won’t depend on him, and he won’t depend on her.

It’s a gentle relationship, beneath the surface. There’s love. But there isn’t that feeling of _togetherness_.

Jaskier seems upset. His shirt is still covered in blood and he’s pale. Clammy. He’s quiet too, which Geralt takes as meaning something is wrong because the only reason the whole mess began was because Jaskier just couldn’t shut up and then Geralt’s brain couldn’t shut about the best way to make Jaskier shut up is through a kiss.

Because that wouldn’t solve anything.

Would it?

But Jaskier is upset.

“I wish it were me.” His bard says simply. “Who were worthy of your love.”

They fuck that night. It’s perfect, like Jaskier was made for him, crafted to take the love of a Witcher, cock and all.

Geralt’s heart screams ‘yes’, as he releases inside that fluttering, warm hole.

“I love you.” Jaskier says, snuggling up to Geralt’s chest.

And Geralt, despite himself, and all he’s learned, and all he knows, repeats those three simple words. And they both fall asleep.

_Soulmate._

His heart sings.

It’s only in the morning, when Jaskier is sleep soundly against his chest, that Geralt realises what he’s done. He runs the ghost of fingers along the raw flesh where he’d bitten down, the scratches of his powerful nails, the near-black bruises about such gentle skin…

“Monster.” He growls at himself.

He takes leave with Roach, who is reluctant to move past the bushes of their camp.

He pretends that the sobs he picks up towards the edges of the forest are the ripples of nearby lake.

It’s so easy, to fall back in with her.

Yennefer doesn’t need his help. Not really.

But it’s fun to pretend, rather than deal with the real thing.

Their magic speaks to each other two, friendly and willing to work together. It’s truly a spectacle, though Geralt knows he and Yennefer could produce the same sort of ethereal energy by holding hands.

He almost likes the dramatics of it all. Almost, because once again he’s fucked it all up. With Yen. He can’t have his fucking soulmate because destiny gave him something breakable and too good for him. And he can’t carve his own out of the moons and stars because Yennefer is so much more than that.

So he’s angry.

So he hurts Jaskier, again.

He waits for the siren inside his head, admonishing for causing Jaskier pain. He waits for the reminder that Jaskier’s smile is worth a journey to hell and back. Those hands remain soft, mostly, the tips rougher from the plucking of lute strings. How their conversation is thought-provoking, how they are made for each other.

It never comes.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY GERASKIER WEEK 2020


End file.
